


Fighting Spirits

by Katiceful



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, i don't even know what this is wtf, kinda short with no real plot haha sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katiceful/pseuds/Katiceful
Summary: He lost him in toxic drinks and dark nights, in silent hours of being alone in his mind, in busy weekends without one shared minute and too much lost hope in his heart. He missed him awfully, every fucking minute, his smile, his fire, the way he touched him when no one was around, even his bad habits, his mistakes. He just felt completely empty, broken, terrifying lonely. Sometimes he couldn't remember how he dealt before Dan. It seemed like time went different for him today, divided  in 'before' and 'after', like he was his fucking God, and who was he kidding, maybe that always had been true.





	Fighting Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> What's up guys, first of all, sorry for any mistakes and also, i'm having a mild breakdown because of my exams and instead of learning i'm writing this shit so yeah...enjoy

Normally, he wasn't a big thinker, more the emotional kind of sort, first acting before thinking, always had been. It had brought him a lot of trouble, to say the least, but he never thought of it as a real problem - it was just the way he was, nothing to change, just to accept.  
However, it wasn't really an excuse this time. He knew the moment the first hasty words fell from his lips, considering how Dans facial expression changed from anger to disbelief and then to hurt, like he ripped him open deep inside and now he was bleeding and there wasn't anything to stop it. But it was Daniel, so Max tried, of course.  
"Dan, listen..."  
But he just shook his head, took a shaky breath and stormed out of the small room in which Max had escaped after his disastrous race - DNF, once again, and he was so angry, so fucking angry. He just wanted to lick his wounds, not ready to face the press or his team, not ready for thousand of stupid questions or analysing what went wrong this time, just a little bit of suffering time for him alone - and of course it was Dan who found him immediately after race, knowing him better than anyone else, better than Max knew himself. 

There were mountains between them as they met in the Belgien grid three weeks later with Max bumping into him because he was too focused watching Free Practice of MotoGP on his damn phone.  
"Fuck, sorry!", he blurted out before realising it was actually Dan watching him with wary eyes. For a moment they both stayed quiet, just starring at each other, too lost in the heavily amount of emotions boiling on the inside, and Max allowed himself to take the time he needed to absorb Dans appearance. He actually looked quite good, with skin telling him he'd spent some time in the sun and even his casual yellow teamshirt couldn't hide the fact that he hadn't been lazy during summerbreak. For a moment, Max considered to just wrap his arms around Dan, stashing his face in the place between shoulder and neck that seemed so perfectly shaped for him, but of course he didn't have the guts. He thought about apologizing, of telling him how terribly he missed him, but then he heard Christian calling for him, so he left, eyes down, breath shaky, bound and determined to talk to him after session and to get all this fucking bullshit between them out of the way.

It wasn't until later that day, him rushing to the yellow motorhome, eager to apologize, positive that it wouldn't be too long till he was back in his arms, that he saw Dan kissing a blonde girl quite passionately, laughing about something she said and looking so ineffably happy Max almost felt peace the moment right before his heart shattered into million tiny pieces. 

Since then he just survived. Living for the races, concentrating on his sessions, keeping up his straight face to the media, talking as little as possible. It functioned quite well, to Max' own surprise. His car was finally working so far and his hard attitude on himself helped him to reach the podium almost every race.  
It functioned, but in nights alone in his bed his fassade began to crumble and each evening it didn't take long until he started to shake in the dark, biting his lips, his fists, his cushions, anything he could find, because he wouldn't cry, not for anyone, learned this lesson years ago through the unforgivable hand of his father, and he hit the walls around him so many times his hands were raw and bloody and his body so exhausted that he fell asleep, deep, dreamless, but nonetheless, when he woke up, he always felt even more destroyed than before.  
So he learned to hate the nights, tried to find distraction in alcohol and girls, in parties and FIFA and hours of sports. Of course the close people around him couldn't oversee the fact that there was something seriously wrong, but he delivered, so the team couldn't really say anything, and it was easy to run from his family and friends thanks to his busy schedule. Christian tried to talk to him after an unspectacular race in Suzuka with a third place for him and a good fourth for Pierre, being more his father than his actual Dad, and for a weak moment he wanted to spill out everything, but eventually, he decided slightly amused, it wouldn't be his most clever move to tell his boss that his two top drivers had preferably fucked the whole last season rather than really concentrating on the races ahead of them, so he dismissed the touchy topic with a casual wave of his hand and some meaningless soothing phrases. 

And then they were in Abu Dhabi already, warm nights with clear view, mild breezes always bringing some sand with them, and Max felt incredibly lonely despite being surrounded by hundreds of people. He couldn't decide if he was glad for the season coming to an end, because after all it was exhaustingly long and he wasn't really sure how long he could manage to keep holding his head high, or if he was more afraid of too much time on his own, inevitable coming with dark thoughts and memories which never failed to make him even more sad.  
He felt someones gaze on him at the drivers parade as he leant next to Charles and Pierre against the railing, grinning about some dumb meme from Landos impressive repertoire, and he looked up to find Dan watching him with a look on his face Max couldn't fully grab. It had been a while since he had allowed himself to really look at Dan, that with the sharp pain shooting through his chest each time he did, and he was kind of surprised and at the same time a little bit pissed as Dan shot him an almost fond smile which send his insides on a roller coaster ride. He looked tired, Max noticed, maybe a little worn out, dark circles around his pretty brown eyes, but still frustratingly beautiful, and Max huffed at how unfair it was that after all Dan looked like a freaking model whilst he could be mistaken for a fucking rubbish bin. 

He finished fifth, no chance against Mercedes and Ferrari this time, and a day later after a long night drinking a little bit too much alcohol with his engineers he already sat in the plane heading home to Monaco, accompanied by Charles, Nico, Lewis and, to his annoyance, Dan, but he had to admit that the atmosphere was quite relaxed thanks to Nicos and Dans great sense of humour. He felt the tension in his bones vanishing a little and allowed himself to settle back further in his comfy seat, tiredness creeping up on him making his eyes flutter, his thoughts already muddle-headed, until the empty seat next to him almost cracked under the weight of a body slumped down, and Max knew without opening his eyes that it has to be Dan.  
"You asleep?", the well known voice was asking scoffingly.  
"Yes", Max answered grumpy, not willing to admit that his nerves started dancing the moment he sensed Dan, far from being tired suddenly.  
"Well, well, too bad we have to talk."  
"Make an appointment with my manager."  
"Yeah, sure", Dan snorted. "I can't imagine something more fun than asking your dad for a termin to talk to you. Besides, I can remember that you've had always time for a fuck. Priorities, am I right?"  
Right, holy fuck, now he definitely had Max' whole attention, something that was Dans intention for sure, and he opened his eyes giving Dan a sharp look and looking around suspicious.  
"Maybe you should talk a little louder so even the pilot can hear it too."  
"So? We didn't even talk for months, let alone fuck, so there's nothing to bitch about."  
"Do we really have to do this on a plane with people around us?", Max asked in a close to desperate voice, because he was sure he could literally see how Lewis already pricked his ears four rows back, always ready for a good story.  
"Well", Dan answered, and now there was a cold sneer in his voice, "The only place where you can't run away from me."  
"I'm too tired to run", Max mumbled, and suddenly he felt incredibly exhausted again, sadness he couldn't quite collated rushing through him in waves, and if he would have looked at Dan, he could have seen how his expressions became softer, a mix between sorrow and affection, and to Max' surprise he placed his tanned hand on his cheek softly, stroked over his brow, and sighed.  
"Okay. Let's meet in Monaco then." 

He dreamed about it, of course he had, had tried to recreate every single kiss between them in his mind for months now, over and over again, until it felt real and fresh and alive, so he really wasn't prepared at all for his overwhelming emotions as Dans lips touched his for the first time in months. There wasn't a word to describe the sparkling joy, the unruly lust rushing through his veins, the pure relief that almost made him cry, and he realised his memories were a poor imagination, a weak attempt, fade and pale.  
So he tried to speak through action and he was pretty sure Dan got it, because, well, it was Dan after all.

Later, as he lay next to Dan in his messy bed, tired, exhausted, but perfectly satisfied, he thought about how unpredictable life was, because just a week ago he felt like shit, and then, as he realised how lost in thoughts he was, he snorted.  
"You infected me with your fucking overthinking!"  
It was meant to be funny, a dumb joke, but Dan stayed quiet for a moment and faced Max, his brown eyes almost black in the shadowed room. "I've noticed. I'd never thought of ever saying this, but I miss your hot headed temperament. It was a big part of why I fell in love with you."  
"And now you don't love me anymore?"  
"That's not what I meant." He reached out, touched his lips, his nose, his cheekbones, and Max closed his eyes. "It's just that you didn't seem happy. Like you suddenly forgot who you were."  
"I did", he whispered. Two words and so much pain.  
They both remained quiet for a while, a comforting silence  
"You can't define your happiness through other peoples existence, Max. And nobody can love mental illness away, you know? I would if I could, I swear."  
"I know that. I don't think you were the only reason why I was so... down lately. It's just... well, it was a long season, wasn't it? And the media... The fucking car in the first half of the season... My dad... I don't know. Maybe it was a little bit too much."  
Dan moved closer, and Max could feel his warm breath on his lips, surprisingly consoling, a whiff of 'It's going to be okay' mixed with 'I'm here', and it was his 'Always' as he closed the gap between them and didn't let go for a long time. 

It worked out. Hard times for sure, doubts and questions, darkness all around, sometimes hate he couldn't allocate at first, but as time went on, he understood. Four months after their reunite, he sat in a modern room, nervous and ready to run, waiting for his first assignement with his therapist. He hated these meetings, because everytime he stepped inside it felt like a loss, like a shameful abandonment, but his 'Always' was waiting for him in front of the door and so he continued, and he had no clue when his discomfort started to vanish, but on a rainy day in July he suddenly realised he almost felt comfortable in his therapists room, and the 'I'm so fucking proud of you's were floating through the dark room this night, answered by a little 'I'm so fucking proud of me too'. 

It was a year and half later that Dan kissed Max in his winner ecstasy on the podium in front of everyone - and Max kissed him back, impetuous and unhesitatingly, ready for everything that might come.


End file.
